


Trust No One

by Pinoko_K



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinoko_K/pseuds/Pinoko_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Post Rockets' Red Glare. Ending Spoiler) Sole Survivor has to make a choice: To protect her son, or to destroy his dream. Meanwhile, Deacon notices something is off. For the greater good, sometimes even the best partners have to go separate ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.  
A/N: Writing this just to get it out of my head. I don't have a beta reader, so please excuse the typos and mistakes. – Pinoko K (pinoko19@gmail.com)  
Ending Spoiler. Beware.

 

Trust No One   
Part One

 

Trust no one.

“Do you trust me?” she asked as they walked down the streets of the Commonwealth.

“Why do you ask?” he countered with a smirk. “You know something I don't?”

There was no eyeroll, no usual banter. Instead, Deacon spotted a hint of sadness flashed across Fixer's face. Fixer – that was not her real name, it's one she'd chosen the day she'd joined their little dysfunctional family. If it were up to Deacon, he'd call her the Frozen Lawyer. Or the Blast from the Past.

“Something wrong?” Deacon probed when there was no answer.

“I... need you to do something for me.”

There was definitely something wrong. He switched from sarcastic to sincere in the blink of an eye. “Anything for you, pal.”

“Meet me at Goodneighbor tomorrow night.”

He just couldn't resist. “Why? You asking me out?”

Again, there was no glare, not even a snort. Only more sadness.

“The Third Rail,” said Fixer, ignoring his jest. “Be there.”

“All right.” The door to the old church creaked as Deacon pushed it open. Two steps in, and he noticed Fixer wasn't following. “You not coming?”

Standing at the doorstep, Fixer only looked at him. Dim lights from the church cast a soft glow on her face. Her eyes shone more than usual.

Was that... tear?

“No,” said Fixer after a pause. “...Preston wanted me to take care of something.”

That was a lie. Deacon could spot it from miles away. Still, he played along, “Another settlement needs help, huh? Ain't no rest for the wicked. See you tomorrow, then.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but there was no word. Fixer gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked away.

Deacon counted to ten, then followed. Hidden in shadows, he tailed the Railroad secret weapon. Her steps were usually slow. Her head was down as if she was drowning in her own thoughts. Not once had she looked up, not even the echos of firefights a few blocks down could get her attention.

Deacon frowned, both in confusion and dismay. Fixer was careful; it wasn't like her to be oblivious to her surroundings.

What the hell was going on? Was it because of all the deaths caused by their most recent, and by far the most spectacular mission? Blowing up that blimp in the sky, Deacon wondered if there's anything they'd do to top that one. No, not that. Was it because of Glory, then? Hell, that one hit hard for him, more than Deacon would ever admit.

Fixer made a turn and walked into a dark alley between two abandon buildings. Had she noticed he'd been tailing her? Took her long enough.

Deacon carefully peeked around the corner. Part of him expected to see a woman with her arms folded, an eyebrow arched, glaring at him, expecting an explanation for being shadowed.

What greeted him was nothing but an empty alley.


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.  
Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One   
Part Two

 

Ignore the verbiage and look at what they're doing. What they're asking you to do. What sort of world they'd have you build and how they're going to pay for it.

Those were the words of wisdom Deacon had once imparted to her. Among all his lies and jokes, at times the Railroad pathological liar would sneak in a lesson. That particular one rang all too true in Nora's head as a blinding flash of light welcomed her back to the Institute.

The stairs leading to the director's quarters seemed to go on forever. Nora's legs almost gave in more than once. It was a long night – long, exhausting, bloody night. But she made it to the top to see her son; for Shaun, she would do anything.

If she could, Nora would transfer all those goddamned cancer cells to her own body to save her son. Shaun was dying. And all Nora could do was standing here, helplessly watching him wasting away. The man in his death bed was twice her age, but to Nora, he was the same little guy who gurgled in his crib.

The same little guy who had Nate's face.

“I've heard about the explosion,” said Shaun, surrounded by medical equipment Nora had never seen.  
“You saved us a lot of trouble. Good work, Mother.”

Good work? Really? Her thoughts went to the squires aboard the Prydwen. They were no more than ten, and Nora had killed them. Every single one of them. Nate would have been horrified by the things she had done.

Grimacing from pain, Shaun took a long, shaky breath before he could continue, “However, there is still another matter.”

The Railroad.

Nothing she could do would stop the inevitable. And the inevitable was breathing down her neck.

Desdemona had issued an order: To destroy the Institute once and for all. Nora had seen this day coming. Try as she might to stall it, to change it, neither side heard her pleads.

And now, she had to choose. To kill her own son, or let cancer take him.

“I know how you feel about the Institute,” said Shaun, his voice weak and coarse. “But those who had kidnapped me were all dead. The Institute is mine, it's all I have, and now it's yours.”

To protect her son's legacy, or to destroy it.

A lump stuck painfully in her throat. “Son...”

“...I trust you, Mother,” Shaun muttered, closing his eyes with a tired sigh. “...The Institute is in good hand...”

Tucking her son in as though he was still the infant in his crib, Nora pressed her lips gently on his wrinkled forehead. His breaths were weak, shallow. How many more weeks did he have? Days? Nora didn't even dare to think.

The door closed behind her as Nora walked out of the director's quarters in a daze. A gentle voice of a child called her back to reality.

“Are you all right?” asked a girl looking up with concern. She's one of the Thompson's twins, Nora recognized.

“...I'm... I'm okay, sweetie.”

“Here.” The girl handed her a clean handkerchief. “It's okay to cry when you are sad, my dad told me that.”

Cry? It was then Nora realized her cheeks were wet.

“My mother told me Father is sick,” the girl continued. “But don't worry. Father is a good man. I'm sure he'll get better.”

It took everything she had not to breakdown right there and then. “...Thanks, Julia.”

The girl beamed at her own name. “Hey, you recognized me!”

Nora forced a smile for the kid's sake. “Of course I do. Alice has green eyes, yours are brown.”

The grin on the girl's face lit up this dark, cold, bloody night. No more innocent deaths, Nora determined.

X6-88 found Nora soon after. “Ready for the next mission, ma'am.”

“Assemble a team. I want it done quick and clean. No suffering, no torture.”

“Understood.”

“I will tell you the coordinates before you take off.”

The slightest tick of one of his eyebrows was all the surprise X6 was showing. “You are not leading, ma'am?”

“No.”

The courser never questioned her orders, for that, Nora was thankful.

“When do we leave?” asked X6.

Deacon, you'd better not miss our 'date.' “Tomorrow night.”

 

* * *

 

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.


	3. Part Three

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.  
Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One   
Part Three

 

_A Kiss to Build a Dream on._

Nora recognized that tune as she walked down the stairs to the bar below. For once, Magnolia wasn't singing her own songs.

“Give me a kiss before you leave me. And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,” the woman in red sang on stage. “Leave me one thing before we part, a kiss to build a dream on.”

Nora scanned the room, looking for a man in particular. Most of the patrons had their eyes glued to the songbird, one of them was looking at her.

A man in black suit and sunglasses.

“Is that another disguise?” Nora asked, sitting down next to her partner.

“Do you like it?” said Deacon, flashing a grin. “Tom's new toy. Ballistic weave.”

“You look...” She swallowed the next word that might have been somewhere between 'dashing' and 'incredible.' Instead, she simply told him, “I like it.”

He seemed pleased with her answer. “Thought you might.”

“I got something for you.”

“What? A new hat? Nuka-cola Quantum? Always wonder what quantum tastes like.”

Nora put a book in front of him.

Eyebrows shot up as a grin grew on his face. “Shakespeare.”

“Turned the entire library upside down to find an intact book.”

Deacon held it up and admired the dusty cover for a moment. “Can't believe you went to the library without me.”

“And ruined the surprise? I was hoping to find Marcel Proust or Charles Dickens.”

“Shakespeare's good. Hell, I'll even take Austen.” He leafed through the pages and continued, “Ah, Romeo and Juliet. The classic cautionary tale of hormonal induced stupidity.”

“It was written as a parody of young love, or so I've heard,” Nora commented as she was watching him, etching very detail of her partner in her memory.

“So what have I done to deserve this, huh?” he eventually asked, closing the book. “It's not my birthday. Or is it?”

_Parting gift..._ “To thank you. Thanks for watching my back.”

He laughed. But when he spoke, his voice turned a notch deeper. It was his serious tone, Nora had long-deciphered. “If you believe anything, believe this.” He leaned closer and continued, “Despite the flying bullets and grenades – and there are a ton of them, the load is lighter and the steps are quicker when I'm with you.”

An innocent comment was enough to send a tingle down her spine. Somewhere, somehow, along the paths they'd traveled together, she felt... something. A stir within when he was around, yet at the same time she felt safe. And when they were apart, her thoughts would circle back to him, wondering where in the Commonwealth he might be, secretly wishing the next settler she bumped into would be a familiar face with sunglasses.

Nothing would ever come out of this, Nora reminded herself over and over again. But what she knew and how she felt were two very different things. And now, what she felt was butterflies in her stomach.

Whether Deacon noticed it or not, Nora could never tell.

He continued, seamlessly switching back to a lighter tone, “Although I certainly could do without the explosions. It'd be nice to have a long, lazy afternoon together for a change. Or a quiet, cozy night.”

The corners of her lips twisted up despite a tiny lump starting to form in her throat. “Yeah, I'd like that...”

For a brief moment, they merely looked at each other as music continued to play. With his eyes hidden behind those sunglasses, his expression was as hard to read as ever.

Whether he was staring at her eyes or her lips, or he was merely looking at something over her shoulder, Nora would never know. It was the unknown that made her hyperconscious under his scrutiny. Butterflies flapped their wings harder than ever.

It was Deacon who broke the silence, “Anything but fighting, right? Bullets aren't cheap. But, seriously, if I knew partnering up would be so much fun, I'd have recruited you the second you stepped out of your vault.”

“You couldn't possibly know I was out...” Nora paused as soon as she spotted a half-smile on Deacon's face. “Wait, don't tell me... You knew?”

With one corner of his lips twisted up just a bit further, he shrugged. “Fine, I won't tell you.”

“How did you know?”

His grin widened as if she'd stepped right into his trap. “I don't give out secrets for free, pal. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine.”

“Secrets? You mean, the most ridiculous stories you could possibly make up.”

He didn't deny that. “You go first. Tell me something I don't know.”

_I might be falling for you._ Her gaze dropped, landing on the book between them. “I used to spend a lot of time in the library. Nate would visit me there. A lot of... memories in that place.”

Running away from the present by remembering the past, it worked like a charm. And Nora had found herself consciously thinking of Nate more often lately when she was with her partner in crime. Nothing killed the butterflies in her stomach like a never-ending flood of guilt.

“What was he like?”

“Nate?” Nora glanced up from the book, surprised by the sudden question. “He was a soldier. A sniper. He fought in the last war.”

“Huh... So you like those serious, stoic type.”

“Hardly.” She snorted. “Nate... He was a goofball when we were together. He made me laugh. You won't believe the crazy things we used to do.”

“Oh yeah? Surprise me.”

Just when she was about to answer, she remembered the game he'd started. “I don't give out secrets for free, either,” she told him, noticing a tiny proud smile on his face. “It's your turn. How did you know I was out of the vault?”

“There were words about activities in and out of an old vault. Gen-2 synths. So, we had a stakeout. We thought they might be using the vault as their base. Two days later, guess who I saw coming out of the elevator?”

Her eyes widened. “You were there...”

“Right from the start,” Deacon told her, his voice oddly gently. But, as usual, those rare, genuine moments were fleeting. “Your turn. Tell me, what sorts of crazy things you used to do?”

“My son was conceived in a park.” Words flew out before she could stop herself. Why she'd revealed this intimate detail, Nora would never know.

One of his eyebrows arched. “Really? Which park?”

“Wouldn't you like to know. The ball's in your court, big guy. Tell me a secret.”

“Okay. Don't tell anyone, but...” He leaned closer once again and revealed, “I have nicknames for everyone in our little dysfunctional family. Grumpy, Dopey, Bashful, Doc, Sneezy, and Princess.”

“Which one am I?”

He only grinned. His eyes were forever concealed behind those sunglasses, but Nora would like to think his smile had reached up there. A genuine, relaxed smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Your turn.”

_I want to look into your eyes, and tell you how I feel. How I really feel._ “Here's one. There are times – many times, in fact – I want to pin you down, and... rip those glasses off your face.”

His smirk never faltered. “If you want a pair, just say so. I can hook you up.”

She reached for the frame, giving him more than enough time to react. As expected, he leaned back just beyond arm's reach.

If she wanted, she could have wrestled them from him. But Nora also realized, if he wanted, he could have bolted from her. It had become a dance between them. He stepped back when she advanced, but reeled her in when she retreated.

And this was their last dance.

“Not even for me, huh?” she asked, toeing a line she never dared to cross.

Unexpectedly, his smirk disappeared. For a second, Nora regretted she had crossed the line. But just before she could apologize, Deacon spoke up in a soft yet serious tone, “It's not you.”

Confused, she looked at him, all she could see was the reflection of herself in those dark lenses.

“Never let your guard completely down, not even in a place like this.” It was the agent talking. Then, his tone shifted again, quieter, “But if we ever find ourselves trapped in a room, and there's only the two of us, I'll let you take them off.”

That was the last straw. Perhaps this was a mistake, but it certainly was her last chance. Before the end of the night, everything would change forever. And if she ever saw him again, she would not be greeted by a joke or a sly grin, but the end of his gun barrel.

Perhaps in time, he would come to understand her. But then again, perhaps he would never forgive her. Whatever the case might be, tonight was their last night together, as good friends, as partners, before the pandora box was forced to be opened.

Before she knew it, Nora found herself leaning closer and closer towards him. A kiss on the cheek was all she could give to express her gratitude, her regret, and perhaps more...

Just one chaste peck.

 

* * *

 

He saw the kiss coming, even though he pretended he didn't. Deacon couldn't say he was surprised; he had a hand in this. If he really wanted to keep her at arm's length, he shouldn't have said what he'd just said. Perhaps a part of him wanted this, as he had been egging her on, baiting her to come closer. Not just tonight, as this game of theirs had been going on for quite some time.

Nora was closer and closer. He could smell her. The soft, feminine scent was inviting, taking over his senses that had been drown by the smell of booze and smoke in the bar. Right now, Deacon had two choices: Slyly shift and start another stupid joke to avoid the kiss, or turn his head to meet her lips with his.

His heart and pretty much every part of his body voted for option two. But his head, his conscience, halted all the muscles needed to twist his neck.

He could never get involved with her, he would never allow that.

He'd watched her, stumbling out of the vault, dazed and confused. Then he'd tailed her to Santuary, to Concord, to Diamond City, Goodneighbor, and Bunker Hill. He'd watched from afar, and sometimes up close. But things didn't start to change until she'd found her way into the catacomb, into his life. Somehow, somewhere along the many paths they had traveled together, she was no longer just a partner, but a friend – the only living soul who knew what a bigot he used to be. Perhaps he wanted her to hate him, it would certainly make it easier for him to push her away. But she didn't despise him, not once.

And that was when Fixer had become Nora to him.

He didn't even deserve to be her friend, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to be her lover. Besides, in their line of work, the instant his enemies knew he cared about her, he might as well paint the world's biggest target on her back.

So, for her safety, and his sanity, Deacon had to let his instincts won over his desires. They would be friends, the best goddamned team in the Commonwealth, but nothing more.

Although, somehow, his head managed to turn on its own. Her lips pressed at the corner of his mouth. For a fraction of a second, he closed his eyes, savoring the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath, wondering what she would taste like. For a fraction of a second, he could see a life with her – a peaceful life where his past was truly behind him. He didn't have to lie, he didn't have to run. No more face changes, no more code names. A normal life together where he could finally hear her say his name – his real name.

For a fraction of a second, he was in love.

The peck lasted only for a second, but neither pulled back immediately. Her head dipped, her forehead rested on his, the tip of her nose on his cheekbone.

Deacon knew he should move. It was a dangerous line he was toeing. Barbara was killed because of him, and he'd be damned if he had Nora's blood on his hands.

Yet, he found himself still as a statue, devouring her scent and her warmth. And when Nora finally leaned back, a sudden pang of chill and emptiness hit him like a punch from a deathclaw.

“...I'm sorry...” Nora mumbled, her voice breaking.

_Me too._ This was the closest he would ever allow himself to fall for her.

“You should be,” Deacon said out loud with a forced smirk. “How could you miss such an obvious target?” He tapped his own lips to make a point.

The look she gave him mirrored his internal face – the face he had mastered in hiding. Sadness, regret, and underneath it all, longing. Once they stepped out of this building, the pandora box this woman had unwittingly uncovered and cracked open, would once again be forcefully sealed and buried.

For her own safety, and for his own sanity, Deacon would continue to do what he did best: Lying. To Nora, to everyone, and most of all, to himself.

More so than usual, Deacon was thankful for his sunglasses. With the sadness in his eyes carefully hidden, Deacon put on a charming grin with ease and asked, “So, another round?”

 

* * *

 

A/N: I'm a sucker for unrequited love. Unlike my other fics, this story won't be long. Six chapters, total, and we are half way done.

Thanks for reading!

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.


	4. Part Four

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

 

Trust No One

Part Four

 

_No. No, not again._

Deacon stood at the base of the stairs, frozen, unable to tear his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Bodies of agents lying on the floor of the HQ. The smell of burnt, vaporized flesh still hanged around the air long after the end of the massacre.

This was Switchboard all over again.

This wasn't even the second time coursers had found their HQ. Hell, not even the third during his two decades of service. Deacon had a nagging feeling that the Railroad was living on borrowed time. But knowing something's coming and seeing its arrival were two very different things.

“Deacon, man! Where the hell have you been?” Tinker Tom rushed to him.

At least he wasn't the only survivor. Not this time.

“What the hell happened?” Deacon asked the obvious, his voice sharper than usual. “I was out for one night and--”

“Just be thankful you were away,” said another voice, coming from the inner chamber of the catacomb. Carrington approached the pair with a grim frown. “None of us would be standing here if we're here tonight.”

“Yeah, me and my boys came back with our latest cache to... this...” For once, even Tom was lost for words. But not for long. “What the fuck!” the skinny mechanic suddenly screamed, hysterical. “I told you the Institute was watching! I knew it! I told ya! I fucking told ya! None of you believed me!”

If freaking out was Tinker Tom's way to get the shock out of his system, Deacon wasn't about to stop him.

First thing first. “Where's Dez?” asked Deacon.

Frowning, the doctor shook his head.

_Son of a bitch!_ First Glory, now Dez.

“A clean shot through her heart,” said Carrington almost dispassionately. “Instant death. At least she didn't suffer.”

“And that's supposed to make it all better, how?” Deacon snapped. As much as he'd like to punch that asshole, Deacon took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. Right now, he had to focus on the situation in hand. “How bad is it?”

“Five agents,” replied the doctor. “Plus, PAM. She's beyond repaired.”

“And Drummer?” asked Deacon.

“He's probably still at Mercer,” Carrington told him. “Fixer told him the Caregiver needed his help. The boy left this afternoon.”

_Fixer?_ Deacon frowned. Since when had Nora taken over Drummer Boy's job as the coordinator? Something didn't feel right. Deacon's instinct was yelling at him.

“Wait, Deek,” said Tom once he'd calmed down, “you seen Fixer?”

“I was with her tonight,” said Deacon. “She's safe.” Yes, Nora was safe. Deacon clung to that thought for a moment as if his life depended on it.

“Thank god she is,” said Carrington under his breath. “With Glory gone, we can't afford to lose another heavy.”

“Yeah, I owe her one, man,” Tinker Tom claimed. “If she didn't tell me about the DIA cache today, I'd be a pile of ashes by now. You too, Doc.”

“I suppose you are right,” Carrington reluctantly agreed. “I do consider myself lucky to lend a helping hand when Fixer asked for my assistance.”

“No shit,” Tom jabbed. “And you're bitching all the way.”

Again. Fixer. Deacon's instinct was screaming by now.

Something definitely was off. All the previous invasions had been nothing short of a massacre. But this time, all things considered, the casualties were low. Did the Institute pick a wrong day to clean house?

No, it couldn't be a coincidence.

The HQ was almost empty because of one person: Fixer.

_She knew about this?_

His heart began to beat faster and faster as a disturbing conclusion started to surface: Betrayal.

_No. No, it can't be._ As much as Deacon hated to admit, Nora could have handed their heads to the Institute on silver platters if she wanted to, and she had plenty of opportunities. So why emptied the nest?

“Tom, the holotape,” said Carrington suddenly.

“Right. Almost forgot.” Tinker Tom fished out a holotape from one of his many pockets. “Found this with the cache. It has your name on it, Deek. Ain't it the weirdest thing?”

The words 'To Deacon' were delicately written on the holotape surface. A woman's handwriting. Deacon's heart sank to his stomach, for he had a pretty good idea who the woman was.

The fingers holding the holotape shook ever so slightly as Deacon stared at his name. Less than an hour ago, Nora had been with him. Less than an hour ago, things couldn't have been any better. Less than an hour ago, she had kissed him on his cheek...

The book, the peck, the regret he had seen in her eyes earlier. Suddenly, it all made fucking sense.

“Aren't you going to listen to it?” asked the doctor.

_No. No, I don't want to._ All he wanted to do right now was to pop a stealth boy and get the hell out.

“Here, man.” Tom took the tape from him and popped it in the terminal on the messy work desk.

“Deacon...” A feminine voice started. Nora's. “If you're hearing this...”

_Don't say another word. Don't._

Yet, the holotape didn't stop. “I'm sorry. I am terribly sorry.”

_Why? Why the hell did you do this to us? To me? WHY?_ Deacon wanted to scream, but he wouldn't allow himself to. Standing as still as a statue, his face remained motionless as he listened. And the pain inside? That's just heartburn from the food he'd had earlier...

“You must hate me by now.” Her words echoed throughout the catacomb. “Nothing I can say will ever be enough to express how truly sorry I am. But I'm glad you're still alive. And if everything goes well, so are Tom, Carrington, and Drummer Boy.”

“Oh god,” Carrington breathed. “I can't believe...”

Nora continued, “I told you my son is in the Institute, and that he is sick. That's not the whole truth. Shaun is dying...” Her voice began to break. “Cancer. He doesn't have much time left. I'm losing my son all over again, Deacon. I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I can't because... Shaun... he is the leader of the Institute.”

“What?!” Tom screeched.

Deacon could barely hear the high-pitched scream, as the whole world started crumbling down upon him.

“Shaun isn't the boy I thought he was. It's been sixty years since he was taken away from me. A man twice my age, but he's still my boy. When Desdemona told me to invade the Institute, to blow up the entire facility, I told her the truth. I told her everything. But... she insisted. It's the perfect opportunity to take down the Institute once and for all. And I am the key.

“But I can't do that, Deacon. I can't! Not when Shaun is still in there. Not when there are innocent lives – good people, children – all living underground. I cannot kill my son! I cannot kill another child. I cannot destroy my son's legacy, everything he had worked for. His lifework, his dream, it will be the only thing I have left from him when he's gone. The only thing I can hold onto when my baby is...”

The next word turned into a quiet sob. The recording stopped. There was nothing but statics as the tape continued to play. It was a much needed break for Deacon to remind himself to breathe as he sank down onto a chair. His mind blank.

When Nora spoke again, her voice was coarse but composed, “I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Deacon, I don't deserve that. What I am asking from you is to listen until the end of this holotape. I owe you an explanation, at the very least.

“...The Directorate – the heads of the divisions – wanted me to remove the Railroad. I couldn't do that. I couldn't do that to you. Shaun wouldn't change his mind no matter what I said. I had to choose, between... between you or Shaun. So I came up with a plan. I lied. I gave them the location of the church and the name of last surviving leader. Nothing more. With the Brotherhood's recent attack, they bought it.”

The best lies are often mixed with a hint of truth. Deacon would have applauded if his heart hadn't gone MIA.

“None of the safehouses is compromised,” said Nora. “All of you are safe. As far as the Institute know, the Railroad is gone. For now, lay low. But you don't have to hide forever, because the Institute will have a new director soon. ...Me.”

“Say what?” came another screech from Tom, one which very much vocalized Deacon's thought.

New leader of the Institute. His partner. His only friend. His... Too shock to process this intel, Deacon could only stare blankly at the terminal.

“I will be the next director when Shaun is...” Nora paused, as if the word 'dead' was stuck in her throat. “Soon, I will have the power to make changes, for the better. When things are settled, I promise I'll do everything in my power to make everyone see that Gen-3 synths have free wills, that they have rights as much as any human. I will work with Patriot to free those who want to leave. The younger generation of the scientists are more open-minded, it will be a matter of time before they see what we already know.

“But the changes cannot be done overnight. Give me some time. We can still work together, as partners, as a team. Only now... I am on the inside.”

Every muscle in his body demanded him to bolt from the chair, head out, and find Nora before she was gone forever. Yet, the survivor in him ordered him to stay put. However crazy her plan seemed, it might work.

“Remember what you said?” asked Nora, her tone strangely gentle. “Me in the spotlight, you in the shadows. We make a damned good team. Take care, Deacon. And thank you. I... I know I will miss you. I already have.”

 

* * *

 

A/N: _“Don't ever let your guard down. When you do, inevitably that's when everything goes to hell.”_ – Deacon to Sole Survivor.

Maybe he should have taken his own advice more seriously.

Some details in this chapter are from Railroad terminals, assuming that runner John D in 2266 is Deacon.

Getting inside Deacon's bald head is more fun than I expected, quite addictive even. I'm fighting the urge to write his story with Sole Survivor, from the beginning to the end. It's a losing battle. But I have another story to finish, dammit.

As always, thanks for reading!

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.

 

 

 


	5. Part Five

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One 

Part Five

 

“You ever play chess?” Fahrenheit once asked her. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to keep the game going. Keep that in mind.”

And so the game continued because she'd sacrificed one piece: Desdemona. Nora felt sick to her stomach for what she had become. 

Her life was not a goddamned chess game. Yet, Nora found herself to be a reluctant player ever since she'd crawled out from that cursed vault.

Her reason to fight had come to an end as she stood by the bed of her son's. Everything she'd done was for him, to keep him safe. Still, in the face of cancer, even the most devoted mother was powerless.

“It's done,” said Nora.

“Yes. I've already heard the news. Five agents and their leader--” Shaun coughed.

“Shh...” Nora hushed him, soothing his chest.

“...I thought there would be more." 

“The Brotherhood invaded their HQ a few days ago. Cut off their escape route and took them by surprise. If I hadn't arrived in time, the Railroad would have been done that night.” That was the truth, although not the whole truth.

“It all worked out,” said Shaun, seemingly pleased even though he was in obvious pain. “Now both the Brotherhood and the Railroad are gone. We are finally safe.”

“Yes, you're safe, son. It's all over.”

“Ah, but... it's really not,” said Shaun. “It's just beginning for you. The Institute is in your hands now. Lead them well. Allie has always been loyal to the Institute, and to me. You can rely on her for her.”

Allie Filmore. The Chief Engineer. The woman who had been kind to Nora since day one.

Nora took his hand in hers. Wrinkled hand so cold and hard, but to her, it was the same chubby little hand that had gripped onto her finger once upon a time.

“There has to be some other way,” she pleaded. “We'll find you another treatment.”

“Nothing permanent, no. The inevitable could be delayed, but... at increasingly terrible cost. I simply decided it wasn't worth it. Don't worry about me.”

“How could I not worry? You're my son.”

“You need to look ahead... focus on the future. Your future,” he told her, weakening by the minute. “Once I'm gone, it's all up to you.”

Her vision blurred, tears threatened to fall if she dared to blink. “Son...”

“There is one other matter. I can no longer look after young Shaun. I hope that you might be willing. He has been reprogrammed to believe he is your son. I hope that's not too presumptuous on my part. Both he and you deserved a chance to... to be a family. Please, take care of him.”

His dying wish. Nora could never bring herself to deny it. “If this is what you want...”

Shaun nodded, closing his eyes with a ghost of a smile. “Take care of the Institute. Take care of its people. They're good people. You know that.”

_Don't. Don't leave me. Don't..._ Nora bit her trembling lips hard to hold back a sob.

“Our time together has been... strange, hasn't it?” His voice was no louder than a whisper. “I spent years wondering what you were like. Thinking about all we missed out on. I... want you to know that I'm grateful for the time we've had.” 

Her throat tightened so much at it suffocated her. Soothing his silver strands as though he was no more than a few months old, the loving mother told her boy one last time, “I love you, son.” 

“Thank you, mother... You've helped a boy achieve his dreams.” His eyes flustered, threatening to close. “I think... I think I'd like to sleep now...”

_No, no, no!_ “Shaun,” Nora called, ignoring the weakening grip in her hands. “Shaun. No. Son, don't... don't go.”

One last breath exhaled, and then there was none. The cold hand in hers went limp. Knees buckled, Nora fell onto the floor by her son's deathbed, crying, pleading to whatever gods out there to give her back her son, to take her instead.

Yet, her prayer went unanswered. Shaun never opened his eyes, never drew another breath. Her heart shattered to pieces; the pain inside her was too much to bear. Nora screamed – heartbreaking, raw, and primitive. And screamed. And screamed, until her voice was no more, then screech turned into sobs.

Footsteps arrived behind her, but Nora didn't care. Her son was dead. Her flesh and blood...

Shaun. Nate. Everything she'd ever loved was all gone... Gone.

Firm, warm hands took Nora by her shoulders and peeled her away from the bed. Through her teary eyes, Nora saw a familiar face in sunglasses. With him, came a glimpse of hope, a solid guiding light at the end of a long, lonely tunnel.

“De--” she almost cried out.

But Allie Filmore's voice called her back to reality. “Director?” The woman looked at her in concern. “Ma'am?”

And just like that, Deacon was gone. So was the hope, the light. She was all alone. Nora cried.

 

 


	6. Part Six

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One 

Part Six

 

No parent should ever have to bury their child.

Yet she did.

How long had she been standing in front of the plaque? Nora didn't know, nor did she care. Flowers had been placed at the base of this simple, translucent headstone. There's no name on it, no date of birth, not even a picture. All that was on the clear, soft green stab was the Institute insignia, as though the entire life of one man was represented by one goddamned logo, that the Institute was his life.

Perhaps it was. The Institute – his life, his work, his dreams. It's all Shaun had left behind. And now it's hers.

Nora ran a hand on the smooth surface.

From the corner of her eye, she sensed a movement. Someone was peeking around the corner, looking at her.

“Shaun?”

The boy. The synth. The... 'gift' her real son had left her.

Little Shaun came out from hiding. “...Hi Mom.”

As strange as it felt to hear the boy called her 'mom,' Nora couldn't deny the sweet little face. He looked just like Nate. “What are you doing there?” she asked the kid as she knelt down to his level.

“I've been waiting for you.”

“Waiting?”

“Yeah. They said I shouldn't disturb you, that I had to wait. So I waited.”

“Come here.” Nora reached out to touch the boy's cheek. His skin was soft and warm.

“Is... is it true that Father died?”

Her lips pressed thin to keep from trembling. Nora nodded, brushing his hair gently with her fingers. “Yeah, I'm afraid it's true. I'm...” Tears threatened to fall, but Nora held them back. “I'm going to miss him.”

“Me too,” said Shaun. “I liked him. He was always really nice to me.” The boy paused then asked, “Where do people go after they die?”

“I-- I don't know, Shaun. To a better place, I hope. A better place...”

The boy nodded. Whether he truly understand or not, Nora couldn't tell.

“Hey, Mom, you're in charge of the Institute, right?”

Nora nodded.

“You can tell everyone what to do, right? Could you make Doctor Watson tell me all the secrets he's hiding? Or tell Quentin that he has to be nice to me from now on? That'd be neat.”

Despite the lump in her throat, Nora smiled. “Do you like it here?”

“Oh, I think it's great! I learn new things every day, and Doctor Watson is always playing games with me. But someday, I hope I get to see the surface. I'd like to visit Diamond City.”

“You know about Diamond City?”

The boy looked as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “...This one time, I modified a radio so I could listen to the broadcast from up there... I think it's called Diamond City. The music was neat, but I didn't really understand a lot of what they were talking about.”

The smile on her face widened just a bit. “Could you modify a radio for me? I like the music, too.”

“Of course.” The boy's eyes lit up. “Hey, don't tell Doctor Watson, okay? I might get in trouble.”

“Don't worry, kiddo. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks! I love you, Mom.”

Nora gave him a kiss on top of his head and held him tight before the kid could see the tears in her eyes.

“I love you, Shaun,” said Nora both the boy and the man.

 

* * *

 

The radio was blasting a song as Deacon walked down on a flight of stairs and descended into a dark basement. In the middle of a small room was a surgical table. The lamp above it provided the only source of light. This was hardly his first trip to this place, nor would it be his last. All the escaped synths who wanted a face change came here for that particular service, providing a steady source of income for the surgeon. And the doctor, in return, knew exactly what to do: Caps upfront, no questions asked.

As far as the doctor knew, Deacon could be another synth on his way to a new life.

He walked by the mirror on the wall. The man within caught his attention. He had this face for almost two years, it's overdue for a new one. This was the face that had traveled all over the Wealth with her... When he walked out of this office, the Deacon Nora knew would be forever gone.

It's better that way, he convinced himself, taking off the sunglasses. The man in the mirror had deep set of steel blue eyes. His eyes, along with his voice, were something he could never change. He could adopt an accent, change his tone to mask his normal voice. But his eyes... Well, that's what those perpetual sunglasses were for.

Always hiding behind a masked expression, wearing a face that wasn't his, Deacon almost forgot how he used to look like back then...

“How do you want it?” the doc asked as though he was about to give a haircut.

Back to business. Deacon put a box of caps on the table and said, “Easy on the eyes, but not too handsome.”

There's a sweet spot. Too handsome, he'd attract unwanted attentions. Too ugly, and no one would give him the time of the day.

The doctor flipped through a notebook and showed him a few selections. One of the faces looked somewhat familiar. A classic, rugged, handsome face that reminded Deacon of Nora's late husband.

For a second, Deacon had a twisted desire to transform himself into Nate, into the pre-war handsome soldier who deserved the love of a beautiful, smart woman. That stupid idea was quenched as quickly as it'd sparked. Who the hell was he kidding? No matter how much he looked like Nate, Deacon could never be the hero Nora deserved.

Besides, there's another thing called reality. She was now the head of the Institute, and he was the hidden pillar of the Railroad. Let's just say their unfortunate situation made the Montague and Capulet feud look like child's play.

Just then, on the radio, a song ended. Instead of another song or an interlude from the bumbling DJ, a pre-recorded message was played.

Deacon froze on the spot.

“For years now, you have suspected the Institute still exists,” said a calm, feminine's voice. It was Nora's. “That we are among you. It is true, but it is not the whole truth. We are here. And we are here to help.

“For more than a century, we have developed technologies that will lead us to the future. But our work is far from over. Unbeknownst to many, throughout the years, some of you have volunteered to join us, and their contributions have proven to be invaluable. As the new director of the Institute, I am sending an open invitation to any of you who has what it takes to join us. We will provide free education to talented individuals, training that will help them grow and succeed in the field of their choice. Together, we will continue to improve our technology, ensuring that mankind has a sustainable and bright future.

“And to the rest who wish to remain on the surface, rest assure we have no desire to interfere with your lives. We simply ask you not to interfere with our limited operations above ground.

“The future that is not just ours, but yours. Whether we are above ground or under, we are the future of mankind. Together we can build a better world for our children and generations to come.”

And there's the partner he knew, shining bright in the spotlight. True to her word, Nora had grabbed the Institute by the horns and turned it upside down and shook. How she'd managed to sneak this scandalous message past the Institute PR was something Deacon would definitely like to know.

“Okay,” Travis's voice came back. “Okay, I've no idea where that came from. I swear, it wasn't me, and, er... I mean, the Institute didn't pay me to do this, it just took ov-- waitaminute... is that why I found a pile of caps underneath my bed-- Oh god! They were here! HERE! In my room! Oh GOD!”

“So have you decided on your new face?” asked the doctor.

“This one.” Deacon pointed at one of the pictures.

“Ready when you are.”

Deacon sat on the chair just as Travis' voice returned after a moment of dead air.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” the DJ mumbled to himself before he cleared his throat and continued, “Okay... Institute, if... uh, if you're listening... Thanks for the... er sponsorship, I guess? And, uh... just want to let you know that you, um... you overpaid, by a whole lot. Not that I'm complaining. No. Not at all!”

_She was here_ , Deacon knew then. She's the one who loaded the tape and left the caps. A strange sense of comfort washed over him. She's still around, somewhere.

“Anyway,” said Travis after a long, deep breath, “back to the music. Here's a classic from The Platters.”

A needle pinched his arm. Anesthetic was slowly injected into his vein as the music started to play.

_Oh yes I'm the great pretender_  
_Pretending that I'm doing well_  
_My need is such I pretend too much_  
_I'm lonely but no one can tell_

“Now count backward from ten,” said the doctor.

Deacon knew the drill. “Ten.”

_Oh yes I'm the great pretender_  
_Adrift in a world of my own_

“Nine.”

  
_I've played the game but to my real shame_  
_You've left me to grieve all alone_

“Eight...”

_Too real is this feeling of make believe  
Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal_

 

“...Seven...”

_Yes I'm the great pretender_  
_Just laughin' and gay like a clown_

“...Six...”

_I seem to be what I'm not, you see_  
_I'm wearing my heart like a crown_

“...F...”

_Pretending that you're still around_

 

* * *

 

A/N: Nora's a lawyer, let's not forget that. And the song, that's totally Deacon, no one can ever convince me otherwise.

This story is going to be a bit longer than expected. Two to three more chapters. Hope you don't mind. Meanwhile, I've started yet another Deacon story called “Project Wanderer.” It's up, and I'll update both simultaneously. That one will be long. What the hell have I gotten into?

Thanks for reading!

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.


	7. Part Seven

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One 

Part Seven

 

“Good morning, Director.” That was the greeting Nora heard at least twenty times before breakfast each day.

“Good morning.” She nodded back to each and every one whether they're synth or human. From coursers to janitors, guards to researchers.

People in the Institute liked her well enough, although Nora suspected it had to do with the fact that she's the mother of their late leader.

“Good morning, ma'am,” another man greeted, joining her to the never-ending spiral descent to the lobby.

“Morning, Doc.” She welcomed his company. Doctor Volkert was one of the very few who treated her like a normal human, not the extension of their beloved Father.

Volkert glanced at her face. “Still having trouble sleeping?”

“That obvious, huh? Do you think you can up the dosage, Doc?” Sleeping pills and headache medicines had been her constant companions. So far, the candy-looking pills were far from effective.

“No,” the doctor firmly refused.

“Guess I've to ask X6 to punch me in the head and knock me out.”

To that, Dr. Volkert snorted a faint chuckle. “You might get your rest, but you'd wake up with one hell of a headache and a possible concussion. Come see me later. We'll discuss some alternative treatments for insomnia and migraine headache.”

“I can't today. I promised Shaun I'll spend the day with him.”

Surprisingly, the doctor nodded with approval. “Good. A day-off with your family might just be what you need.” When they stopped at the base of the stairs, Volkert turned to her and said, “Your symptoms are stress-induced, ma'am. I could inject you with enough drugs to simulate endorphin, but that would be like covering a festering wound with bandage. What you need to do is to clean the wound, stitch it up, and leave it alone until it heals.”

His words, whatever he meant by it, hit Nora to the core.

“Enjoy your day with your son, ma'am. Don't forget your breakfast,” said the doctor who continued his way to his office.

“Good morning, Director,” another person greeted her. This time, it was a cheerful young man.

“Mr. Binet, good morning.” Liam Binet, aka Patriot. He wouldn't approach unless he had something to report. And so, Nora asked, “Care to join me for breakfast?”

“Of course.”

The food in the cafeteria was the same old perfectly formulated food that contained all the nutrients a body needed. Clean, precise, practical. Just like the Institute itself. Sure they came in varieties, simulating the tastes of their real food counterparts. But the aroma, the texture, and the mix-and-match spices, all were missing.

Nora stared at the bland food on her plate. After eating the same thing for a solid six months, she couldn't bring herself to take one more bite. Not that it mattered, her appetite had been non-existing.

So, instead, she took a sip of the beverage. It tasted vaguely like fruit juice, but with a chalky, thick texture. Nora forced herself to swallow this mixture that no doubt packed with vitamins and minerals, artificial color and favor, and all those goodies.

Suddenly, she craved for some noodles and Nuka-Cola.

She missed the surface, the food she'd once found repulsive. She missed the feeling of warm sun on her skin, the awe of staring into the starry sky at night. And the people.

She missed...

Forcing a name and a face out of her mind, Nora put down her drink and asked, “How's your research going, Mr. Binet?" 

“Making some progress, ma'am,” said the young man. “I'm expecting a result by the end of this week. Double the output from last time.”

Double? That should keep the Railroad busy.

“Keep it up, Liam,” said Nora. “If you run into any problems with your research, my door is always open.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” said Liam in earnest. “My friends and I are glad you're with us.”

To anyone else in the vicinity, their conversation was part of the daily lives here in the Institute. A young researcher discussing his project with his superior. In this case, it was the director herself, who took the time to listen during her breakfast. Nora absently wondered if Deacon would be proud of what she'd learned from him.

A budding smile died immediately as she remember one cruel fact – he probably still hated her for what she'd done.

Her thoughts, though, were quickly shoved aside as she heard a young voice calling, “Mom!”

“Shaun, you shouldn't run--” urged Codsworth, trailing behind Shaun as his shadow. The Mr. Handy was quick to apologize to a few scientists his young master ran by. “Oh, do pardon us!”

“Morning, honey,” Nora greeted with open arms. The boy had changed into the outfit she'd prepared for him – t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. “Ready for the trip?”

“Yeah!” The grin on the boy was all Nate's. “Hey, mom, why do I have to wear these clothes?”

_To keep people from gawking, or worse – hurting you._

“Well...” Nora leaned close and whispered as if she's sharing a secret, “Because we're going to a mission. We have to blend in.”

“Oh. Like spies.”

Nora arched an eyebrow. “You know what a spy is?”

The kid gave her a cheeky smile. “Yeah. I read it from a book.”

“Of course you did, you little bookworm.” She ruffed his hair a little. “I know you like books. So, we're going to the library today.”

Big round eyes lit right up. “We are?”

Her smile, although a bit tired, was genuine.

“I can't wait!” said Shaun. “I really like reading. You can learn all sorts of things from books.”

“That's right,” the mother encouraged. “I know someone who loves books, too. And he's very smart.”

“Really? Maybe I can meet him someday.”

Her thoughts once again drifted to her former partner, wondering where he was in the Commonwealth, what kind of shenanigans he was getting into.

Perhaps what she missed the most wasn't the sun or the stars, but one particular man.

Nora smoothed the boy's soft hair and said, “Go get some breakfast, sweetie. We're leaving soon.”

 

* * *

 

“This is getting out of hand,” Carrington complained. Now that he's the leader of their little dysfunctional family, but the doctor was still a pain in the ass, if not more so. “We have too many packages and not enough runners.”

Deacon shrugged. “What do you want to do? Send them back?”

Of course Deacon didn't mean that; he didn't mean most of what he'd ever said.

Although Carrington had Desdemona's death glare down pat, Deacon was immune to that silent look of threats, whether it was from him or Dez.

“We should tell Patriot to hold off delivery for now,” said the doc.

“I'll run double shift,” Deacon offered. “Don't forget, I was the best runner back in the days.”

“You are already running double shift,” Carrington didn't hesitate to point out. “Do you even get any sleep?”

No. But Deacon would rather do anything but to lay down and stare at the ceiling. If he stared long enough, he could see her face.

Outwardly, he flashed a smile he knew would irritate the doctor. “Aw, I didn't know you care about me.”

As expected, the doctor huffed. “I don't. Let the runners do their jobs. We need you to do what you do best.”

“You should listen to the boss-man, Deeks,” Tinker Tom chimed in as he typed away on his terminal. “You look like shit.”

“Not a fan of my new look, huh? Well, too bad, no refund.” The grin came way too easily. Deacon could lie as naturally as he breathed. But, constantly lying to himself took a toll on even the best damned liar ever. Nora would have called out his bullshit...

Carrington continued his lecture, but Deacon paid no attention. His mind, his thoughts, everything had gone to one person – his former partner. Somewhere underneath the Commonwealth, there she was, living a new life as the freaking director of the Institute. This had to be the most elaborate infiltration mission the Railroad had ever pulled off, and certainly the most secretive one.

To most, Fixer had died along with Desdemona. Even Drummer Boy was kept in the dark. Only three men knew the truth, and none of them had ever mentioned her name. Not once. Six months had passed, and no one suspected a thing.

Six months... At a hidden corner of his mind, Deacon wondered if his former partner-in-crime still remembered him.

“Hey, Deacon, come check this out,” Tom called from his terminal, giving Deacon a perfect excuse to run away from Carrington's endless nagging. “MILA's data just came in. See this? A spike of activities.”

“What the hell are the synths doing there?” mumbled Deacon under his breath.

Tom shrugged. “That place has nothing but super mutants. I say let them kill each other.”

Tinker Tom was right. But what Deacon saw was a perfect excuse to run, to keep his mind off things. “I'll go check it out.”

“All right,” said Tom, handing him a stealth boy. “Stay safe, man.”

“Deacon!” Carrington called after him. But it was too late, Deacon already slammed the door.

 

* * *

 

“The world is so much bigger than I've imagined,” said Shaun in awe while he looked at the blue sky above.

Right at his heel, Dogmeat barked in agreement. The boy and the dog had only met for the first time at Nick's office less than two hours ago, and they'd already been best friends.

“Dr. Watson always says the surface is hopeless, but it's not!” Shaun continued. “Just look what people are building. People out here are just like me, they like to tinker with things too. It's not as clean as the Institute, but I like it.”

“We'll visit more often,” Nora promised. “We can stay at Diamond City overnight if you want.”

“Really? That'd be neat! I really like Diamond City. That robot who sells noodles, he's funny. And I like your friend Mr. Valentine.”

The boy could be a chatterbox, and Nora could listen to him talk all day.

“When I grow up,” Shaun declared, “I think wanna be a detective just like him.”

Nora looked at the boy with a sad smile. “You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up, sweetie.”

“I don't wanna spend my whole life underground. That'd be boring. We don't even have Nuka-Cola down there.”

“So, it's all about Nuka-Cola, huh?” the mother teased.

“Not just Nuka-Cola,” her son protested. “I like the sun and the sky. And the people.”

Dogmeat barked.

“And you, Dogmeat. Come on, boy!” The kid and his new best friend ran ahead towards a historic building down the block.

The courser who had be trailing a few steps behind now chased after the duo. “The surface is a dangerous place, Shaun.” X6-88 caught up easily with a few long strides. “You need to stay close.”

“You worry too much, X6,” said Shaun, fishing something out of his pocket. “Here, want some candy? Piper gave it to me. You should try it. Don't swallow it, though.”

The courser stared at the pack of gum in the boy's hand as he walked beside him. “No.” He then added as an afterthought, “...No, thank you.”

From behind, Nora watched. Tall and board and expressionless, X6-88 was as intimidating as any courser could be, but, somehow Shaun was never afraid of him. And if the courser disliked the mundane assignment as the boy's bodyguard, he'd never said a word.

“Stay with your mother,” X6 told the boy before he went ahead to meet with a synth guarding the entrance to the library. He reported when Nora arrived, “Our team has cleared the building, ma'am. It's safe to enter.”

“Most of the books were burnt or destroyed,” Nora told her son as they entered the library. “But... if we look hard enough, we might find some treasures underneath.”

“Treasure hunting! Neat!” The boy and the dog dashed inside.

“Watch your steps!” Nora called after him.

“Wow!” The boy looked up at the decorated doom ceiling. “I've never seen anything like this. Can't wait to go back and tell Quentin all about this.”

X6 stepped up to Nora and quietly told her, “The bodies of the super mutants have been disposed of, ma'am.”

“That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you, X6.”

As expressionless as always, the courser merely nodded at the compliments then issued an order through his radio, “All units, standby.”

“So many books.” Shaun explored with Dogmeat at his heels. “Too bad they're burnt. ...Oh hey, there's a garden.”

“Sweetie, wait--”

The heavy wooden door to the entrance suddenly squeaked open. Nora tensed and whipped around to see a man entered.

“The library is close,” said X6 to the stranger, who froze at the bottom of the stairs.

While coursers were rare sights, some of the Commonwealth citizens knew a courser when they saw one. An expressionless, intimidating man in long, black leather coat tended to stand out like a sore thumb.

_Oh crap..._ The last thing Nora needed was to tarnish the Institute reputation any further. Stepping between the two men, she told the courser, “It's okay. This is a public building.”

“Ma'am--”

“Go keep an eye on Shaun.”

Even though he might not agree with it, X6 didn't question her order. “Yes, ma'am.”

Perhaps too shock to see a courser up close in person, the man only stood, eyes widened, staring right at her.

_Yes, I just bossed a courser around. Why yes, I'm the director of the Institute. Nice to meet you._

_Oh shit._ “I'm sorry about my friend,” Nora explained quickly to diffuse the situation before the man ran away screaming. “He's too protect--”

Her words were cut off by a furry bolt that flew past her and made a beeline to the stranger. Dogmeat jumped up on the man, paws planted firmly on his chest, tail wagging, barking loudly.

“Dogmeat!” Nora yelled, half-afraid the man would shoot her canine best friend. “Dogmeat, stop!”

Dogmeat, however, ignored her completely. Tail wagging so hard it might fall off, the dog continued to bark while trying to lick the man's face. Understandably startled, the man, however, didn't reach for any sort of weapon. Nor did he even make any attempt to shoo the dog away.

Instead, the man reached out to pat dog on his head, scratching him behind his pointy ears. Dogmeat's favorite spot next to a fully belly rub.

Satisfied, Dogmeat finally took his paws off the man, but he was far from done with his new best friend. The dog ran around the man in circles, barking excitedly. His tail never stopped wagging.

“Dogmeat! Come back here. Now!” Nora tried again.

Finally, Dogmeat responded. He rushed back to her, circled around her twice, then suddenly nudged the back of her knees hard enough for Nora to stumble forth.

The man's reflex was fast, lightning fast. Before Nora could regain balance, a firm yet gentle grip was already on her arm, steadying her.

“Thanks--” An accidental glance at his hand made her heart skip a beat.

The hand was strong, fingers long and surprisingly elegant. Those were the hands of pianists – she should know, for she used to be one. And more than once she'd jokingly told her ex-partner that he should be a pianist due to his nimble hands. The same hand that was holding her, even a familiar faded scar was there.

_Deacon?_

The man retreated quickly as if he could read her mind. Without saying one single word, he turned to leave.

“Wait,” she called after him, desperately needing a confirmation on her own sanity. “You don't have to leave. The library is big enough for all of us. You came all the way for the books, didn't you?”

The man stopped but never looked back as he finally spoke, “Another time.”

The voice. Although lower and coarse, she recognized it. But both the voice and the hands didn't match the face...

Then, she remembered one particular quirk about her ex-partner: Face change. Pieces of puzzle rapidly fell into place.

His name was caught in her throat as Nora watched her former partner walked out of the door, out of her life.

Dogmeat barked at her as if he's yelling, _Go after him, you idiot!_

Nora chased outside. The streets were empty. Not a soul to be seen. Deacon was fast, but even he couldn't have disappeared within seconds.

Unless... Stealth Boy. Popping a Stealth Boy and bugging out. That would be his style.

The realization stopped her in her tracks. As much as she wanted to see him, to talk to him, to apologize, to... simply feel his presence, Nora ordered herself not to take another step. After what she had done to the HQ, what she had done to Desdemona, Deacon had every single right to hate her, every reason to kill her.

She'd betrayed him to protect her son; she'd lied to him to keep him safe. In the end, she'd lost them both.

The sun was shining bright above, but Nora felt nothing but cold.

 

* * *

 

Leaning against the exterior stone wall of the library, Deacon started to materialize as the Stealth Boy wore off. Forty seconds bought him enough time to run away, more than enough time to be far away from the library. Yet, here he was, still lingering around the perimeter. If she had chased down the block and turned the corner, she would have seen him.

But she didn't.

Deacon heard Nora coming after him, but she didn't go far. He should be glad she didn't pursue, yet, that nagging hint of disappointment was hard to ignore.

Safe for now, Deacon tried to process what he'd just seen. Nora, aka Fixer, the Railroad Secret Weapon, alive and well, looking like she had walked out of an old-world magazine. Her outfit was clean and pressed, and not a hair out of place. A courser was with her, following her orders to a tee. If she wanted the synth to decorate the entire library, Deacon knew the man in black would only ask Art Deco or Baroque.

And then, there's someone named Shaun.

No, not her son. The old man should be dead by now...

So who the hell was Shaun? Obviously someone who was important enough to tag along for a library field trip with the director herself.

Uncertain if he wanted to know the answer, Deacon shoved that question under the rug, adding to the existing pile of undue concerns and denied feelings. It's none of his business, whoever Shaun was. His former partner seemed to be doing well; that's all that mattered. Some things were better off forever locked inside a pandora box, sealed and buried.

Yes, it's better this way.

But then... if it's truly better, why the hell did it hurt so much?

Must be heartburn.

_Yes, that's it,_ said the liar to himself. _Heartburn._

 

* * *

 

A/N: Let's assume realistically that a few things can't be changed even with plastic surgery. The color of the eyes, the voice, and the scent.

Who's a good boy, Dogmeat? Yes, yes you are.

This chapter's the original ending. As much as I want this to be the end (because I'm a sucker for bittersweet ending), there's more.

Thanks for reading.

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19. Tumblr – pinoko-k.

 


	8. Part Eight

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

Trust No One 

Part Eight

 

Boston Public Library. This used to be her home away from home when she'd to study for her bar exam two centuries ago. For the past week, Nora once again had spent most of her evenings here, reading pages after pages of reports until her eyes watered.

The poor lighting in the library provided a far from ideal reading environment. Yet, night after night for the past seven days, Nora returned, abandoning the comfort of her private office in her new home underground, waiting for a person who would never come.

It's been eight days since she'd met her former partner here in the library. Seven nights she had waited, and the door had yet to be opened once. There was not a soul in the library, not even super mutants. Nora suspected that X6-88 had sent a team to patrol the library each night before her arrival. It's not his place to question her, but it's his responsibility to protect her. And X6 took his job very seriously. Although never once had he mentioned anything about her nightly activity.

One of the perks of being the director was that no one dared to question her use of her private time, no matter how illogical it might sound. If she wanted to sleep in the library and relay back to the Institute by breakfast time, that's her business.

Yes, the Director of the Boogey Men of the Commonwealth, that's her title. The Institute was now hers to lead. It's her job to review reports from all departments, to keep track on every the on-going research. If there's any more questionable experiment done in the name of science, the blood of the victims would now be on her hands.

No. No more blood, no more killings. The deaths of the children aboard the Prydwen haunted her still.

Nora swallowed a tired sigh and focused on the tiny fonts on the paper. Like the previous reports, this one was filled with one overly complicated scientific term after another.

_I'm a lawyer, damn it, not a scientist._

Sometimes she wondered if the scientists purposely recorded their findings with the most complicated terms they could think of, just to make her life miserable. Perhaps they hoped she'd have given up by now, and blindly signed off anything that came across her desk.

If that's what they were aiming for, they're sorely mistaken. If their new director could recite the laws of the State of Massachusetts, it'd only be a matter of time before she'd fluent in the language of science.

For now, though, a scientific dictionary and her own notes were there to help her through another long night of reading.

Nora reached the last page of the report, signed her name at the bottom, then put the folder on top of the finished pile. Another one done. Tired eyes closed for a much needed rest, she let her mind wander. Not at all surprisingly, it went straight to the encounter a week ago. The man – same height, same voice, same hands – had a different face. His hair, no longer shaved, was short and light. His eyes, no longer hidden behind any sunglasses, were a shade between blue and grey. That wasn't the Deacon she knew, but it had to be him. Dogmeat's nose was never wrong.

But if it's her former partner, why hadn't he killed her? Was it because of Dogmeat?

To find out, she had been waiting for days – waiting for a man she'd betrayed, waiting for a bullet in her chest from his gun. Or so she'd been telling herself. After everything they'd been through together, she owed him a perfect chance to seek vengeance, if that's what he wanted. And she owed herself a chance to apologize, and properly say goodbye.

He would come. It'd only be a matter of time before his curiosity led him right through this door. And she would wait. Very much like how he'd waited for her to crawl out from the vault more than a year ago. Meanwhile, though, she had to be careful. The Institute was watching, above ground or under. One single misstep, her connection with the Railroad would be exposed, and it wouldn't be just her head on the platter. But Shaun's, Codsworth's, and maybe even Liam's.

Playing her part as the overworked director, Nora stretched her stiff shoulders and sneaked in a little break. She reached for a book she'd brought with her each night – the same book she'd given him the last night they'd spent together. Shakespeare. She flipped through the pages to one of the most well-known tales, to where a small piece of paper was used as a bookmark.

_Act II. Scene II. Capulet's Garden._

 

* * *

 

Why the hell was he here?

Deacon found himself once again walking past one particular historic building in the Commonwealth. He was on his way back to the HQ, that's all. Yet, walking past the same building every night for one whole week? The paranoid side of him was absolutely disgusted by this rookie mistake. This kind of predictable behavior would get him killed.

No, it was far from a rookie mistake. He was here because he wanted to. Even the best liar sometimes couldn't lie to himself anymore. The chance encounter with his former partner had been slowly driving him insane. Even though he could list one thousand and one reasons why it's the worst idea ever to see her again, he had one reason why he should: To get this insanity out of his system. The sooner, the better.

One look inside the building. That's all he needed. If she's not there anymore, great, he'd leave and continue with his life.

Yes, let's do this. Now.

Determined, Deacon vaulted over the short stone fences surrounding the library perimeter, then approached the entrance. He paused at the door for what seemed to be eternity. How hard was it to open an old, wooden door? Very.

But he did, eventually. As quiet as he was, the old rusty hinges gave away his stealthy entrance. Staying within the shadows, Deacon descended the short flight of stairs, and froze.

There she was. Sitting by one of the tables in what used to be a reading area was his former partner, wearing in perfectly pressed white shirt, flipping through a pristine condition book. If he ignored the broken bookshelves and damaged books in the background, Deacon could easily pretend he'd gone back in time, back before those goddamned bombs dropped.

Nora looked up from the book. If she's surprised to see him, she was hiding it all too well. She was alone. No courser bodyguard, no dog. For the longest time, they merely stared at each other, none of them said a word, none of them moved.

His ever-present paranoia ordered him to bolt, to get the hell out before an army of chrome domes arrived. But his well-honed instincts told him she would never hurt him. It's not based on any romantic notion that they had been through hell and back together, but simply because if she'd wanted him dead, he'd have joined Dez by now.

So far, he's still very much alive, and so was the Railroad.

“Hello again,” Nora broke the silence. “I'm sorry about my dog last time. Say, do you have a geiger counter?”

It was hard not to smile. “Sorry. Mine's in the shop.”

“That's too bad,” she breathed, studying his face with an intensity that drew him closer.

Steps by steps, he found himself approaching until the table was the only thing that stood between them.

The warmth, the light, everything he'd been secretly craving for in the past few months, it's all in front of him. His paranoia yelled at him, warned him to back the hell up. It was fire he was playing with, if he's not careful, it'd consume both of them.

“Do you like Shakespeare?” Nora asked, casually waving the book in her hand.

Deacon had been in the field long enough to know this game. The seemingly normal question was a test to confirm his identity. After all, who in the entire Commonwealth would discuss classic literature? Hell, how many could read to start with?

“I prefer Proust,” Deacon voluntarily offered one little piece of confirmation she was seeking, secretly proud of her caution. The Institute was everywhere, and who knew this better than the director herself?

“I'm more of a Dickens fan,” she followed up seamlessly. “Shakespeare had his moments, but I've always hated Romeo and Juliet.”

Romeo and Juliet. One final test.

“It's one of his earlier works,” Deacon replied with a shrug. “A friend once told me it's meant to be a parody. Well, to me it's more like a cautionary tale of hormonal-induced stupidity.”

This was as close to revealing him as he'd allow. For his safety, and hers.

Her eyes lit up as if he'd given the correct answer to her million-cap question. “Tell me, what would you do if you were Romeo?”

“Join forces with Juliet and save the world. Faking suicide was so 16th century.”

The smile she gave him was like the ones on the covers of the pre-war magazines. “I couldn't agree more.” She closed her book and continued, that beautiful smile fading, “I once had a friend, a close friend. Someone I... cared about. But I've lost him.”

Deacon dared not to move a muscle. For he knew if he moved, he would shove the damned table aside just to touch her.

“I wish things were different,” she continued after a long breath. “Wish I had the courage to tell him how I felt.”

“How?” he heard himself asking.

With a sad smile, she shook her head. “Doesn't matter anymore. Not after what I did.”

_It does_ , his heart yelled. _Say it!_

_No, it doesn't_ , his mind countered. _Don't touch the Pandora box!_

Despite the war waging between his heart and mind, Deacon remained absolutely still and quiet.

Her eyes, shining bright under the dim lights, looked right into his. “Do you think he'll ever forgive me?”

“I think he never blames you.”

“...It's good to hear...” She let out a long, heavy breath as though the weight on her shoulders had been lifted. Then, very quietly, she whispered, “I miss him.”

Those three little words packed a punch to his chest. Deacon knew he should say something, he wanted to. But what could he say without revealing to eavesdropping bastards of the Institute that he was the partner of their lovely leader? That the Railroad was far from dead thanks to an agent formerly named Fixer?

And so, once again, his reply was forever stuck at his throat.

Nora understood, though. She always did. After all, she was getting good at this game called tradecraft. _Too good_ , Deacon thought, watching her expression quickly shifted back to the poised and composed mask.

“I should head home.” She stood, gathering a stalk of folders on the table. “My son's waiting for me.”

“...Your son?” The wheels inside his head started to spin fast. The old man was still alive?

“Shaun,” she told him like a proud mother would. “He's ten.”

And then, it all clicked. No, not the old man, but the boy who used to live in Diamond City. The synth.

“Well, nice talking to you.” She headed down the hall, leaving.

_Stop her, you idiot. Say something._ Desperately searching for an appropriate excuse without raising suspicion, his eyes landed on the table where one single book remained. “Your book,” he called after her.

“I'm done with it.” She turned and faced him once again. “It's yours if you want it. As much as I hate Romeo and Juliet, but the balcony scene? It's classic.”

With that, she headed down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

That was hardly an offhanded comment, Deacon knew. He picked up the book and flipped it through. And there it was, a note bookmarking Act 2, Scene 2 of the classic play. The balcony scene.

Written in delicate handwriting were only a four words: Tomorrow. Same time. DCHP.

DCHP. Diamond City Home Plate. A ghost of a smile found its way back to Deacon's face – the first genuine smile since that night at the Third Rail six months ago.

The Commonwealth was still the same when Deacon walked out of the library with a book in his hand. Yet the moon above seemed brighter, his loads suddenly lighter.

Twenty-four more hours till the next rendezvous.

Twenty-three hours, fifty-nine minutes.

* * *

 

A/N: One more chapter, that's it. I promise.

Thanks for reading.

And a special thanks to Senomaros for all the encouragement.

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19. Tumblr – pinoko-k.

  
  


 


	9. Part Nine

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

 

Trust No One 

Part Nine

 

A bobby pin and a screwdriver were all he needed to gain access to almost everywhere in the Commonwealth. Tonight, his challenge was a lock on the hatch on the roof top of a house in Diamond City. A familiar pair of sunglasses once again perched on his nose after their long absence. The sky had darkened, but Deacon only need his ears to find the magical sweet spot.

When he found it, he slowly turned the screwdriver, and the lock clicked.

“Open sesame.” Smiling to himself, he lifted the hatch then noiselessly descended down the ladder.

What greeted him was the most delicious smell – a warm and welcoming aroma of home cooking.

The ladder took him to the loft of the house. The lamp on the nightstand by the bed was the only light source. Although dim, Deacon knew his way around, for this used to be his home away from home – if that cold, creepy, underground crypt could be a home to start with. Following the smell and the lights from the living area below, he made his way down the stairs and stopped in the middle when he saw her.

Right there, standing by the stove with her back facing him was the owner of the house. For a long moment, he stood and stared at this perfect picture. A cozy little home, someone to come back to, someone to share his life with.

This was what he secretly longed for, a desire that had been sealed and locked away for two decades, long before he had taken on this codename, long before he had left the man he once was behind on a surgery table.

Deep inside, he knew he didn't deserve this. Never had. Years ago, he had taken the leap of faith with Barbara. But he was younger then, much younger and more naïve. And Barbara had to pay the price. Now, though, he was wiser – wise enough to know a normal, mundane life was never meant for someone like him, no matter how much he longed for it.

He fought the urge to run away, and the urge to run to her. Choosing neither, he stood in shadows and watched. Indulging in a fantasy he had denied himself for too long, allowing himself the luxury to pretend that this was his life. For one precious minute, the liar weaved the most convincing lie, making himself believe that his dream had finally come true, that this was his. All his – a home, a life, and a person he loved.

 _Honey, I'm home._  


* * *

 

Nora heard a tiny noise from above. Just a hint, nothing suspicious. If she wasn't expecting company, she'd have not paid attention to it.

But she was. For the past twenty-four hours, Nora had been waiting for this moment. Despite the anticipation, her exterior was forever cool and calm. It was all an act though – an act she had long perfected in the previous life she'd lived as a lawyer. Standing by the cooking stove, she continued to stir the pot of stew she'd been cooking, while she silently waited for ten more seconds.

Butterflies fluttered wildly inside her stomach as she mentally countdown from five.

Four. Three. Two...

Then, without turning around, she spoke out loud to the seemingly empty house, “You make a habit of breaking into a stranger's house?”

“I don't know,” answered a voice from the behind. “You make a habit of inviting stranger to your house?”

Nora turned to greet her guest as he casually strolled down the stairs. The voice was very same, but not the face. The sunglasses made their appearance tonight, covering the eyes she knew were staring right into hers.

“You should invest in a better lock,” Deacon told her, approaching. “Just saying.”

“Nothing can keep you out.”

He didn't stop until he was just one step in front of her. “Do you want to?”

Nora didn't answer. Instead, she reached out to touch the frame of his glasses. If he wanted to stop her, he could. But, for once, he didn't. She striped the sunglasses off his face very gently, and stared at him for a very long moment.

He let her look while unabashedly staring back at her. Without those dark lenses, she could look into his eyes, and she knew why he had to hide them. They were expressive, too expressive.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Deacon asked, breaking the tension. Somehow, their faces had gotten closer.

Nora took a step back, putting a safe distance between them. “You look different.”

“Good different? Bad different?”

“I've to keep telling myself it's my old partner I'm talking to.” She shrugged, then couldn't help but add, “It's you, isn't it?”

“Oh, right...” Deacon nodded to himself as if he was hit by sudden realization. “This is the first time you've seen me swapping faces, isn't it? Takes a while to get use to it, but it's me. Promise.”

Nora snorted, hiding a smile. “That's exactly what a fake Deacon would say.”

“Didn't I already pass the Shakespeare test? Should I quote Marcel Proust next? How about something from 'In Search of Lost Time'?”

“'Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us,'” she recited, watching as his eyes lit right up and a grin spread on his face.

“Hey, you stole my favorite line.”

Nora turned her attention back to the pot on the stove before she could no longer hide that smile that had been slipping through. It's been a long, long time since she'd cooked for someone. Last time, it's for Nate.

Standing right behind her, Deacon hoovered his head above her shoulder and sniffed. “Mm. Smells good.”

“Are you talking about me, or the food?” Nora asked before she could stop herself. Old habits die hard.

He twisted his head a little, his breath brushed her cheek. “Why not both?”

She tried her best to ignore how close he was, but the tingle down her spine was hard to suppress. “Hope you're hungry.”

“You have no idea,” said Deacon, taking a step back. “We should do this more often. Next time, I'll cook. Did I tell you I used to be a chef at the Tops Casino in New Vegas? My brahmin steaks? They're legendary.”

“Your turn next time, then.” Nora put a steaming bowl of brahmin stew on the table. “Try it.”

He did without hesitation. “Mmm, mmm. This is good,” he commented between bites. “So you really know how to cook. I thought Codsworth was lying.”

“My mother used to tell me, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“She's right.” Another big bite. “Mine is definitely yours.”

Just another joke, Nora told herself. “Didn't know you have one.”

“Oww!” He crunched his chest and winced.

She couldn't help but laugh. “Kidding. I know you do. It's made out of solid gold.”

“Shh... Don't tell anyone. Wouldn't want anyone to steal it.”

“If they want it, they've to get through me.” She jokingly flashed the sweetest grin. “It's mine, right?”

Deacon only looked at her for a moment with more than a hint of a genuine smile. “It's good to see that smile again. I thought the Institute had stolen it from you when you signed the contract to be their boss.”

They had fallen back into the same old dance too fast, it was as though the past six months had never happened. But it had. There's one thing she needed to say, “Deacon, listen, I...”

Putting his spoon down, he gave her his full attention.

Three simple words she had wanted to say since that fateful night six months ago. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. I wish you'd told me sooner.”

“Would you have trusted me if I did?”

“...I don't know.”

“I wouldn't. My son was the leader of the Institute. I was compromised as an asset.”

His uncharacteristic silence spoke volume: He agreed. “You're not just an asset or an agent,” Deacon said after a pause. “You're my best friend, dammit. You shouldn't have to go through that alone.”

“You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you.”

“So why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want to lose you.”

And just like that, the truth came out. No dramatic yelling match, no heartfelt confession.

“It's over,” Nora told him quietly. “Shaun passed away that night.”

Deacon nodded, taking a long breath. “And your son? The boy?”

“Shaun reprogrammed him. He doesn't know he's a synth. To him, I'm his mother.”

“A second chance in life, huh? Not many of us get that.”

“There will be problems down the road, but...”

“Hey, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.”

 _We._ She noticed that. Her partner was back. Her load was lightened. “...I'm sorry about Dez.”

Deacon shook his head, quiet for a moment. “In our line of work, we're constantly living on borrowed time. Dez was the forth leader since I joined, and she lasted the longest. Being the leader has its perks, but the down side is the giant red target painted on you. And it's not just the Railroad. Not many leaders get to die of ripe old age.” He paused and gave her a meaningful glance. “Be careful. Usurping never goes out of style. Don't trust anyone in the Institute.”

“I never wanted this job,” Nora suddenly confessed. “Shaun put me there. The other directors weren't too happy with an outsider taking his place. But Shaun was adamant about it.”

“So why did you take it?”

“All the terrible experiments, this... mess, it's my son's fault. And I am trying to clean this up.”

“The Institute started it by taking Shaun away from you. They stole your kid, brainwashed him. He's not your son anymore. Sorry to tell you this, but he never was.”

His brutal honesty was refreshing. Just the eye-opening dose of medicine she needed. Shaun was his own man, a stranger twice her age, not the infant son she'd lost.

“Maybe you're right,” Nora admitted, “But I can't help but think, if Shaun never existed, there wouldn't be any Gen-3 synth. If he didn't exist--”

“Then I'd never have met you.”

For the longest moment, they merely stared at each other.

“It's not your fault,” said Deacon eventually.

Those four little words completely tore down the emotional guard she had put up. For the first time in the past six months, Nora could feel her heart was finally healing.

“Not your fault,” he repeated, then stood up and opened his arms. “Come here.”

Nora could only stare at him.

“C'mon,” he beckoned, his easy grin returned. “Limited time offer. Best hug you'd ever get, satisfaction guaranteed.”

Still, she hesitated. Not because she didn't want to, but because she knew she'd never want to let go once she had a taste. “I thought you're not the hugging type.”

“I lied. You of all people should have known better,” he chided jokingly, then pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her.

It was just as warm and safe as she'd imagined. Slowly, she relaxed, feeling all the tensions drained from her muscles, as she buried her face onto his shoulder.

“Don't keep me in the dark again,” he told her, holding her close. “Whatever hell life throws at you, we will face it together. Nothing beats the Death Bunnies.”

“I'm sorry.”

She felt a soft kiss on top of her head. All was forgiven.

“I missed you,” she told him, clinging onto him as if her life depended on it.

“You did? How much?”

The child-like absurdity of that question brought a smile back to her face. “Enough to keep me up at night,” Nora confessed very quietly, “wondering what you're doing, what kind of shenanigans you're getting into.”

He buried his nose in her hair and mumbled, “I thought you'd forgotten all about me.”

“I couldn't even if I wanted to.”

“Oh? And why's that?”

Nora lifted her head and leaned back enough to look at her long-lost partner. His features might have changed, but the man within was very much the same. “Don't you know?”

“Know what?” Deacon's innocent expression was convincing enough, but his eyes betrayed him.

He knew, of course he did. With a people-reading skill like his, Deacon had to notice she'd fallen head over heels for him, perhaps even long before she'd come to the same realization herself.

“Guess it'll remain a secret.” Nora hid a smile then pushed him away, giving him a chance to walk away before both of them stumbled into an unknown territory.

But he tightened his arms to keep her in place. “Aw, come on, don't leave me hanging.”

Her hands, now resting on his chest, could feel the heart beating widely within. Heartbeat couldn't lie. He knew where they were heading, and, just like her, he was uncertain. A leap of faith could be terrifying, especially for those who had love and lost.

One last chance to back off. “You sure you want to know?” Nora asked, her tone was quiet but serious.

“I'm dying here.” He pressed her closer and rested his forehead on hers. “Tell me.”

She did, although not with words. Instead, she held his face gently and pressed her lips on his for a tender kiss. His mouth was opened in an instant, demanding more. Although caught by surprise, she managed to respond with the same urgency. All her fears and uncertainty were immediately stripped away when she had her very first taste of him.

Those three little words remained unspoken, but they both heard it from each other. Loud and clear.

 

* * *

 

Deacon stirred. It was a dream, a goddamn perfect dream. From the moment he walked through the door, smelling the most delicious home cooking simmering on the stove top, to the moment his lips were on hers, tasting what he'd only imagined for a long, long time.

He wished a dream like that would never end.

When the warm bundle in his arms shifted, Deacon opened his eyes. It was not a dream. A mess of soft hair brushed his chin as Nora twisted, trying to shift away from him. But he trapped her in a vice grip.

“Sorry, Sugar bomb, but you're can't leave without a passcode.”

She made a tiny noise between a snort and a chuckle. Her breath tickled his chest. “Sugar bomb?”

He gave her a kiss on her forehead. “That's you, Honeybunch.”

She raised her head to look at him through half-opened sleepy eyes. “Seriously? Honey--”

Deacon flashed a victorious grin. “Yes? You call?”

Finally realized she had walked right into his trap, Nora groaned and flopped back down onto her personal pillow, aka his chest, in defeat. “If we keep sleeping like this, 'honey,' you won't feel your arms by morning.”

“Hm. That's a problem, isn't it?” Without warning, he flipped over, pinning her down underneath him. Grinning down at the slightly startled face, he told her, “That's better. Now, what was the secret that you wanted to tell me just now before we got too busy to talk?”

“Oh, that.” The corners of her lips curled up. “I...”

His head dipped down, the tip of his nose touched hers, waiting for the next two words. The L-bomb. Part of him was too afraid to hear it – it was a curse, a death spell that could kill her. Yet part of him was dying to hear her repeat what she had mumbled at the height of passion a short while ago when he's buried deep inside her.

And it came in a whisper, “...forgot.”

Deacon laughed – a genuine, belly laugh. Having a taste of his own usual medicine was a refreshing, to say the least. When his laughter finally died down enough for him to catch his breath, Deacon saw her looking at him with the softest, most loving gaze.

“Wait, I remember now,” Nora told him, smiling, “I love you.”

He heard her. This time, Deacon was certain he didn't hallucinate those three words during a euphoric state. He didn't trust himself to say another word. And so, he replied wordlessly, starting with a tender kiss that turned into much more soon after.

He didn't deserve to be this happy; he didn't deserve her. But his crippling guilt was slowly melting away by her touch, her taste, her scent.

To hell with everything. Their precious little night might be a rare, stolen moment, but it was all his. She was his – a person who loved him despite his truckload of flaws. Tonight, for a few hours, Deacon's dream had finally come true.  


* * *

 

“Do you have to leave?” he asked, lying on the bed, watching her. “Aw, come on, five more minutes.”

“You said that half an hour ago.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Nora buttoned her shirt, only to find a hand sneaking its way from behind to undo buttons from the top down. She slapped the hand away, then turned to face him. “I've a meeting this morning.”

“Reschedule it.” Deacon shrugged. “Aren't you the boss or something?”

“The boss who's gone missing the entire night and rescheduling the weekly meeting for the first time since she's taken over? That will not raise any suspicion at all.”

She rebuttoned her shirt, this time he left her in peace. A tiny part of her was disappointed that he didn't persist.

“You're not gonna disappear on me for another six months, are you?” Deacon asked, perhaps half-jokingly.

“Never.” She took a key from the drawer and put it on the night stand. “Next time, use this.”

“Aw, you don't want me to practice my lock-picking skill?”

“I don't want you to break my lock.”

Pushing himself up, he sneaked an arm around her waist. “So when are we gonna have another slumber party?”

“Next week?”

“A week?” Deacon frowned, hugging her close from behind. “What about tonight? I'll cook. Brahmin steaks, mmm mmmm.”

“Sorry, honey, I should spend some time with Shaun tonight. I've been away every night for the whole week.”

“...You've been waiting for me in the library for a week?”

“For my whole life.” She gave him a peck on his cheek before she wiggled away from the warmth of his embrace to continue to get dressed. “Tomorrow night?”

“I've to head to Mercer tomorrow. We're expecting a delivery.”

“Can you handle all the packages?”

He grinned at her. “Why? You want your old job back?”

That was a joke, not an invitation. “Sure. Give me a new face and a new name, and I'm in.”

“Hey, that's my trick. It'd be a shame to change that pretty face, though.” He pulled her back in his arms and started to kiss her once again.

She allowed it, but only until things got too heated to stop. “I wish I could go with you,” she told him, touching his cheek gently. “It was fun, traveling together.”

“It's not the same without you. We made a damned good team.”

“We are still a team, aren't we?”

“The best.”

 

* * *

 

A/N: This chapter was a struggle. Fluff and romance are definitely not my strong suits, but there you have it. Happy ending.

I took the epilogue out, just so the story will end on a happier tone. For those who're curious, the epilogue is a flashback, a year ago, with Father and two of his trusted advisers. His scheme, if you will, and it's the reason for the title of the story. It'd certainly add a sour note to the ending, so I decided against it.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. Hope to see you again.

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.

  



	10. Epilogue

A/N: This ending scene was planned along with the opening scene before the fic was posted. This epilogue is the real reason why the title is called “Trust No One”. To this day, it still bugs me that the story's not quite completed, so I'm posting the real ending even though the fic has ended for a while.

You'll probably have a lot of questions if you choose to read this, and they'll all be answered in the sequel (which is all outlined but probably won't be written). If you love the happy ending, feel free to skip this. It's a flashback scene, so the happy ending still stands... for now.

Another note, this is not the same story/universe as my other fic “Project Wanderer”, so whatever happens here is not going to happen over there. (Why pull the same trick twice? I've lots more up my sleeves.)

Last but not least, a shout-out and a giant thank you to tomberi-no, whom I sent this epilogue to a while ago. The precious feedback made me rethink about posting this real ending.

As always, thanks for reading.

  
  


* * *

 

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Ending Spoiler. Beware.

 

Trust No One 

Epilogue

  
  


“How bad is it?”

“It's spreading.”

“How much longer do I have?”

The doctor hesitated for a moment before he answered, “A year. At most.”

The brutal answer didn't faze the old man a bit. “A year,” the old man repeated to himself. “Thank you, Dr. Volkert.”

“Sir,” said the doctor, “it's not too late to consider a more aggressive treatment. If we start it now--”

“We've talked about this before. No. We both know it'll merely delay the inevitable.”

“But...”

“I've lived long enough.”

“The Institute needs you, sir.”

“If my experiment goes well, the Institute will no longer need me.” He leaned back, closed his eyes.

That was a big 'if', a big gamble.

There was a knock on the door. The old man reopened his eyes.

“Sir,” Dr. Filmore greeted as she walked in. “Our subject is building a teleporter.”

“Who is helping her?” asked the old man. “The minutemen?”

“...The Railroad, sir.”

The old man could see the irony in this. “Then it's time to prepare for her home coming. I'll send a message to each department to inform them about our guest's arrival. Once she's arrived, we'll begin phase three.”

“Are you sure she's ready?” Filmore asked.

Yes, it's the biggest risk he had taken in his entire career. Yet, he was running out of time. He needed an heir, a successor worthy of his legacy. And if he didn't have one, he'd create one.

“We'll find out,” the old man replied. “If this experiment goes well, we're one step closer to Gen-4. But if it doesn't... Well, If anything happens to me, here's her recall code. You know what to do.”

  
  


 


End file.
